


The Second Sacrifice

by Elf (Elfwreck)



Category: The Wicker Man (1973)
Genre: Beltane, Canon-Style Dubcon, First Time, Gift Fic, Group Sex, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Outdoor Sex, Pagan Rituals, Paganism, Religion, Ritual Sex, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/pseuds/Elf
Summary: Sergeant Neil Howie discovers that the Wicker Man on the beach is not the end of his time on Summerisle.





	The Second Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coaldustcanary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/gifts).



> The fix-it fic absolutely nobody asked for. I drew a few details from the extended version, but seeing it is not necessary to follow this. (It has names for more people!) With thanks for the lovely beta help from R. and G.

Sergeant Neil Howie yelled his prayers as loud as he could, as long as he could, as the smoke rose and choked him, as the heat grew, as the embers flew around him. One spark landed on his hand and he shrieked in pain, shook his arm to be rid of it, but he couldn't move enough. The smoke was so thick, the heat made him dizzy and tired, and his hand was burning--he tried harder to shake it off--

He awoke with a start in his bed in the MacGregors' house, and his hand felt like it was on fire. He'd thrashed in his sleep and knocked over that gruesome candle; it was on its side, resting against his hand, and dark smoke filled the room. He flinched away from the candle and the pain stopped--he'd barely brushed against it. 

He must have been dreaming. He couldn't have been. It was so real. He needed to get up, get out of here, and find out what was really going on, but it was so dark he could barely see, and the air so filled with fumes from the foul device that he could barely breathe.

A soft arm slid around him, helping him sit up, and a gentle voice said, "Drink this; you'll feel better." He took a sip from the cup pressed to his lips, and it was sweet and cold, some kind of spiced cider; it soothed the ache in his throat immediately. He recognized the person holding the cup as Willow, and he started to pull away from her. She patted him on the shoulder and reached down to the candle, quickly blowing out its sinister flames.

"We need to get away from the smoke," she said, and took his arm to help him stand. He didn't have the strength to shake her off, so he let her lead him out of the house, away from the rancid, sour smoke. He was dizzy--still disoriented from sleep; couldn't think; could barely keep up as she led him out of the house. He staggered at her side, barely able to walk, coughing too hard to see where they were going. 

At least the trip was mercifully short. He was grateful when she stopped and helped him sit down; he sank onto the blanket spread out on the ground before he thought about it. Willow knelt down beside him, and Miss Rose sat down at his other side, her leg pressed against his. She wore a white gown and held a wine cup, which she pressed to his lips.

"Drink, and be quenched," she said, and he was so thirsty, his throat so raw, that he did. It was the same sweet cider Willow had given him, and it chased the last of the smoke out of his mouth.

He looked down at himself. He had on the white robe he remembered ( _being burned in_ ) from his dream; there were oil or paint smudges on the front, and on the backs of his hands. He started to reach up to his face and thought better of it.

He looked around at the courtyard where Lord Summerisle had given his speech about the procession to the beach; the blanket was spread out over woven mats of grass, and Lord Summerisle was lighting a fire in a stone circle. Summerisle walked over to him, and Neil flinched, tried to back away, but his back was against a wall.

"Relax," said Summerisle. "The Hand of Glory is a powerful magic; the paths you walked under its influence were not true paths, but in another world, they could have been." Howie looked around wildly, and saw that the walls were covered with tapestries with scenes that he-- scenes from his dream: a circle of giant stones; six swords making a sun star; a fallen, beheaded beast-person; a cavern by the ocean; a wicker man burning. In the dim evening light, the torches made the pictures seem to move. 

Neil tried to get up, but Willow and Miss Rose held him; he was too weak, still, to fight them off. 

"Murderer!" he cried out. "You are all murderers! Killers! I will see you brought to justice!"

Summerisle said easily, "Is that what you dreamed? How scared you must have been, to think our holy days were marked with death. Nobody has been murdered; nobody will be murdered. The dream no doubt reflected your fears, not reality."

"Prove it! Show me Rowan Morrison!"

Lord Summerisle sighed, and says, "I thought it would come to this." He faced the entry to the courtyard and called lightly, "Rowan, dear, will you show yourself?" 

She stepped into the courtyard wearing the white dress with flowers, just as she had on the hillside... in his dream, he supposed it was. ( _How would he dream of those exact flowers? And yet, there she was, her dress pristine, not stained and torn from running through the rocks._ ) She looked calm and happy; there was no hint of fear in her face.

She was holding hands with another young lady with long blonde rippled hair. The other girl was holding the hand of a young lad.

When Neil had seen her at the front of the classroom, she had looked thin and wan, pallid and dull. Not anymore. Her hair had been brushed into a golden river falling around her face and shoulders; her eyes twinkled with excitement, and she looked... radiant. He could think of no other word for her. 

The fellow whose hand she was holding looked familiar--blonde hair in a pageboy cut, smiling softly. With a start, Neil recognized him as Ash Buchanan, the boy who'd been with Willow the night before last, who'd put the wreath on the top of the maypole. 

Lord Summerisle walked over to the trio, took Rowan's hands in his, and said, "Rowan, dear, are you ready?"

She nodded shyly and smiled. "Yes, I... I think so."

"Don't think; you must know."

She nodded again, and looked up at him, more resolute. "Then I know. Yes."

"You have the harvest crown for the Queen of the May?"

Rowan nodded, and from the basket at her side, she pulled out a dried flower crown. 

"Then kneel, Laurel, and receive the hope of the harvest."

The blonde girl and the fellow with her knelt, and bowed their heads.

The sergeant interjected, "Just what is going on here?"

Summerisle turned back to him and explained, "Rowan has been hidden away since the harvest festival; she is now ready to return to us."

"But people said she was dead!"

"And so she was... in spirit. Her life was removed from the village, set apart from us. She stayed in the caves at the edge of the sea, letting herself be filled with the power of the ocean and the sky, the sun and the winds, so that now, in the spring, she could pass that power along to the Virgin May Queen, who will bring blessings to our crops."

Lord Summerisle turned back to the two young people, placed a hand on each of their heads, and said, "May you be filled with the warmth of the sun and the waters of life, and may your joy spill out on the earth and refresh the fields."

"Thank you, Lord Summerisle," they murmured.

Rowan stepped forward, holding the flower crown in her hands. She placed it on Laurel's head and said, somewhat awkwardly, "One virgin to another, I give you the hope of last year's harvest."

The girl replied, "One virgin to another, I receive this token of faith."

Summerisle intoned, "May the blessings of the god of the sun and the goddess of the orchards fill you." He stepped back, lowering his hands, and said more conversationally, "The bower is ready for you in the fields. Enjoy the May Day fires, and may your union bring renewed vigor to our harvest." 

They grinned at him. "Thank you, Lord Summerisle." 

"Off you go, then." He smiled at them, and shook his hands, shooing them away.

"Yes, Lord Summerisle," and the two ran off, holding hands and laughing. Rowan waited until Lord Summerisle turned to her. "Your duties as maiden of the harvest are complete; you may return to your family now."

She threw her arms around him. "Thank you!" And she ran off.

Neil was stunned, confused. "You were... you were going to murder her." 

"Of course not. Why would you think that? We have a caring, law-abiding community on Summerisle."

"But the book said... if the crops fail, animal sacrifices are not enough."

"Indeed, they are not. But we are not barbarians, Sergeant; we follow the religion of our ancestors, but not all of their practices. Your own religion no longer requires a week of fasting with only bread and water during Lent, nor do your modern theologians insist that every crime must be answered with an eye for an eye. Our religion has also changed, as we have come to understand the spiritual meanings of the ancient rituals, rather than copying their form by rote."

"What do you mean?" He knew he sounded defensive rather than authoritative, but he could not keep the note of confusion out of his voice.

"Laurel is our most beloved virgin, and her virginity will be sacrificed to Aphrodite with the help of young Ash, who is is most eager to love her. She is, of course, entirely willing, and has been patiently waiting for this day."

"Then why the runaround? Why call me at all, if this is just some kind of, of degenerate religious service?"

"Because that's not all we need. As you know, our crops failed badly last year; we need more than a single virgin sacrifice to be sure to imbue the land with new life."

"So you are murderers after all! You will burn me!" He tried to get away from them, but he had no strength, and sitting with his legs stretched out before him, he couldn't get the leverage to throw off the women holding him down. 

As he struggled, Willow threw a leg over his, and Rose put her hand on his chest. He noticed their softness a bit more than was comfortable for him, and he twisted harder to get away. Rose put a bit more weight behind her hand. "Stop fighting, man!" she said, exasperated. "Nobody's going to hurt you!" 

Lord Summerisle frowned at him. "There will be no murders here today. We worship the generative powers of life and fruition; we cannot serve those powers with wanton deaths. Even the animals we sacrificed this afternoon were not wasted--their meat was served at the Beltane feast. Their deaths serve to keep our community hale and healthy. Murder of a human being brings us nothing."

"Then what's the other sacrifice?" 

"I told you: we need two virgin sacrifices. One that carries the love and hope of the community, and one filled with... other powers. And you, sir, with your powers of a king, with your foolish explorations into places you do not understand, coming here of your own free will to attempt to disrupt our celebration... you, Sergeant Neil Howie, are the perfect virgin sacrifice."

Willow traced her finger over his nipple. Rose traced over the other, and he gasped. Neil looked up at Lord Summerisle, standing near his feet, and flushed warm. _It's the smoke_ , he thought. _I'm still short of breath._

Summerisle leaned over Rose and put a hand on Neil's shoulder, and that was much closer than was comfortable, more... intimate than such a casual touch should be. "And you will, I assure you, lose several of your virginities tonight." 

"Wh-what do you mean, several? A person is only a v-virgin once!"

Both women chuckled softly, and Lord Summerisle threw back his head and laughed. "You have so much to learn! This will indeed be a delight, and a most excellent gift to our lady of the fields!"

Neil looked back and forth between the two women, frowning in confusion. He tried not to look at Lord Summerisle even though he stood between them, even though the man was _still touching him_. Rose took a sip from her glass, but Willow was smiling at him, and said, "It's okay. You don't have to wait any longer," and she trailed her hand down his chest, stopping at his waistline, right where his belt would be, if he were wearing a belt.

He wasn't wearing a belt. He wasn't wearing _pants_ ; he could feel himself start to react to her touch, and he made a strangled sound.

"This isn't right! I mustn't--I can't--"

Lord Summerisle gripped his shoulder harder, and with his other hand, tugged at Neil's chin to look him in the eye. 

"If you can tell me, honestly, that you do not wish to feel her touch, she will release you."

"I d--" he started to speak, and the words choked him as badly as the smoke had, earlier. He felt Willow's palm, warm and gentle, just over his navel, with her fingertips oh-so-soft reaching downward, and he remembered her sweet voice singing to him, remembered the sounds of her body and her pleasure, and he _could not say_ that he wanted her to stop, that he wanted her to go away.

Lord Summerisle's thumb traced over Neil's chin. "It doesn't have to be so difficult, you know. Giving yourself over to pleasure isn't against the law." 

"It's a sin," Neil whispered.

"Not to our gods. And even your own bible says, 'love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.' And you are in the presence of the very goddess of love, who wishes only to bring you joy."

Neil shook his head at the word _goddess_. "She's not--that's blasphemy." 

"If it's easier for you, you may believe that she is only filled with the spirit of Aphrodite, as any of your own clergyfolk may be filled with holiness."

Rose interrupted. "You're being far too philosophical. This is a time for experiences, not for talk. Here, Sergeant--shall I call you Neil? Since we're about to be so very close. Here, Neil, have a drink," and she handed the cup to him again.

Everything was intense and confusing and Neil did not want to think about Willow's hand, much less about Lord Summerisle's touch. Grabbing the cup made Summerisle's hand shift away, so Neil drowned his apprehension in a deep drink.

"I thought--" he started, and then stopped. All three of them looked at him, and Summerisle prompted him. 

"You thought?"

"I thought the harvest was poor, that you had no apples to keep for yourselves."

"It was, and we did not. This cider was three years in the making."

Neil had nothing to say to that. "Oh." He took another sip.

Willow tapped the back of his hand. "Will you share?"

"Of course," he said without thinking, and handed her the cup.

She looked into his eyes while she tipped the cup and drank, and he could scarcely breathe. When she finished, she lowered the cup and her tongue darted out to touch her lip, but then she stopped. She smiled at him. "I could share the taste with you," she said. He didn't know what she meant, so he started to ask--and she leaned forward and kissed him.

He tasted the cider and the sweetness of her tongue, and he did not resist as she pulled him down over her. For a fleeting moment, he was overwhelmed by the sensation of her body beneath his, and something felt _so exquisitely right_ that he moaned.

Willow rolled him onto his back, sitting on his--on his thighs; he refused to think anything else--as she pulled off her robe. He saw her breasts in the flickering firelight; Lord Summerisle lay down beside him to whisper, "Touch her." He couldn't. But Rose stretched out on his other side, warm and soft--where was her robe? Gone--and lifted his hand so his fingertips touched Willow's breast. 

Willow leaned forward into his hand, which put her body directly over where he ached most; she smiled and wriggled and he swallowed hard. 

"This is in the way," she said, as she tugged at his robe. "Will you let us remove it?"

He could deny her nothing. He nodded. She raised herself on her knees, and Lord Summerisle and Rose pulled the robe off, leaving him naked in the evening chill. But their bodies were warm and the fire was not far, and he wasn't cold at all.

He also wasn't sure what to do. Willow settled on his lap again, but he couldn't just lift his hands to touch her again. Lord Summerisle whispered in his ear. "Neil, I know you ache to touch her. And she aches for your touch. You can fulfil both needs at once." Then Summerisle took Neil's hand and led it back to Willow's breast, and that was so much easier to think about than the prick against the side of his leg.

Unlike Rose, Summerisle didn't take his hand away. He covered Neil's hand with his, pressed both their hands down on Willow's nipple, and flexed their fingers to cup the fullness of her breast. 

"Mmm, I like that," she said. "Twice as much touch." Willow arched forward into their hands, and let her own hand fall behind her to trail over Neil's erection. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and she smiled and wrapped her fingers around him. When her hand left him, he winced at the loss, but then she slid down his body, kneeling between his knees, and took him in hand again.

She looked into his eyes and said, "you have a _lovely_ penis," just before she lowered her mouth to him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, shuddering with a sheer pleasure he'd never let himself imagine. A whirlwind of confusions and delights followed, each more intense than the last. 

Willow's mouth was warmth and magic. Lord Summerisle's body pressed against his was lean angles and strength. Rose reached over, under, through the tangle of bodies with light quick touches that he could never predict. 

When a second mouth touched his prick, he cried out, but he couldn't bear to look, to see whose mouth had joined Willow's. When he came, it was like lightning shooting through him, settings his nerves ablaze, rigid everywhere at once, until he softened into warm caresses all over his body.

Summerisle's deep voice whispered into his ear. "You should return the favor."

Neil nodded weakly, but then shook his head sadly. "I don't know how." 

Rose chuckled. "Oh, we'll show you." And they pulled him to sitting as Willow lay down, hands behind her head and legs bent open, and Rose and Summerisle moved Neil around to kneel between Willow's legs as she'd done for him. "Go on, now," Rose said. 

"Yes, taste her," said Summerisle. "She is exquisite."

Neil had never seen a woman's private parts up close. Her downy fur, the pink slit and plump lips… he touched her, carefully, and Willow said, "Don't tickle!" So he touched her more firmly, and that got him an "Mmmm…" He explored her with his fingers until they were wet, until her juices covered his fingertips and the little button above the slit glistened in the firelight. The scent was driving him mad; he leaned in and licked.

She gasped, so he licked again, and then sucked at her, feeling her writhe beneath him; her soft humming distracted him from Summerisle's hand stroking down his back, between his thighs, and over his softening length, pulling him back to hardness. 

When Summerisle's finger slipped between his cheeks, he froze, but Rose said, "Sssh, love, just keep going; you're doing so well," so he buried his face in Willow until he was near bursting.

"I can't--" he said, and Summerisle pulled out, pulled away, and nudged him forward; he slid into Willow like homecoming and everything went shock-white as he spilled into her.

***

He woke up back in the bed, naked; his clothes neatly folded on the dresser. Lord Summerisle sat in a chair at the bedside. 

"You needn't return to the mainland," he said.

"What do you mean?" 

"You could resign your commission and stay here. Willow likes you, and her esteem carries a great deal of respect."

 _I couldn't_ , he started to say, but he was tempted. Everything on the mainland seemed so far away, so alien. He wasn't sure he could ever step inside a church again. "But what would I do?"

"I'm sure we'd find something. I'm just here to let you know you have… choices. Stay for the day, please. Rest." Lord Summerisle trailed a hand down his face, and Neil could feel himself almost blushing. "You've been through a very intense experience, and you shouldn't rush to make decisions right away."

Neil looked up at him, held his eye for a long moment, and nodded. "I'll… I'll think about it," he said.


End file.
